The Holt of You
by RSteele82
Summary: (AU Series) Just a short little, one day to write story for those asking that we continue to move forward in the AU Series. This story takes place primarily after Corn Fed Steele, as Remington and Laura address her allowing Preston Hayes's outright flirtation with her in front of Remington and the repercussions of Laura not setting the man down firmly.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

_**Just a short little, one day to write story for those asking that we continue to move forward in the AU Series. This story takes place primarily after Corn Fed Steele, as Remington and Laura address her allowing Preston Hayes's outright flirtation with her in front of Remington and the repercussions of Laura not setting the man down firmly.**_

 _ **The Alternative Universe Series**_ _ **  
**_

 _ **Toss the Twilight Zone experience of Season 5 into the proverbial trash can. These stories pick up after Steele of Approval. While Approval still exists, more importantly these stories look at season 4 as most of the viewers saw it - Laura and Remington had crossed that line, imbuing that Season with the "Mr & Mrs Steele" feeling that most experienced. **_

_**To get the most out of my stories, I recommend reading them in the following order:**_

 **Steele Forsaken (Part 1 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)  
Steele Mending (Part 2 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)  
A Holt New Beginning (Part 3 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series; Takes place during and after Steele Searching)  
Holt the Presses (Takes place during and after Steele Blushing)  
The Holt Truth (Takes place during and after Forged Steele)**

 _ **As usual, I do not own the characters. I simply borrow them.**_

* * *

Chapter 1: Prologue

At Agritech, an attractive, stylish and petite blonde assistant escorted Remington and Laura into the offices of Preston Hayes. He gave the woman a quick double-take when he noticed her gaze upon him, and with the slightest of frowns dismissed her, focusing instead on the man seated in front of them. In his early thirties, with sandy brown hair and of average height and looks, the man immediately set his eyes on Laura before the introductions were even made.

"Mr. Hayes, these are the investors from Los Angeles. Remington Steele and Laura Holt," the assistant announced, then discretely left the room. In his chair, where he remained sitting through the introductions, Hayes threw out his hands to either side of him, laughing and grinning widely at Laura.

"Laura Holt!" he repeated her name, enthusiastically as he stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of her. "Remember me?" The comment drew Remington's focus fully on her, as she struggled to place name and face in another time. She looked at Hayes blankly, obviously not recognizing him.

"Uh…"

"Preston Hayes." Still nothing. "Stanford."

"Oh," Laura uttered, still uncertain who he was. Remington turned to face her more fully, his eyes darting back and forth between the pair, clearly not amused.

"Kappa Sig? You wouldn't go out with me?" Recognition dawned, the memory of their meeting long ago drawing a blush across her skin. _Disgusting,_ Remington muttered to himself silently, unable to disguise his distaste for the surprise reunion… or her reaction when she giggled girlishly at the man and they shook hands a little too enthusiastically for his taste.

"Oh, yes. You're the senior who tried to kiss me in the quad that night," she reminisced as she looked away from him. Remington rolled his eyes and then averted them.

"It's a- Stanford tradition," Preston filled in Remington, drawing his attention back to the display.

"Rah," Remington answered unenthusiastically, leveling a less than happy look upon his associate. At his response, Laura drew a deep breath and with a quick glance in his direction, gathered herself together.

"So, um, what keeps you here in Iowa?" Laura inquired speaking like the professional woman she was, no longer the girl in knee socks.

"Well, Agritech recruited me right out of B school," he answered, then quickly tried to turn the conversation back to a personal level. "So, how're you doing?"

"Well—" Laura began, only to be interrupted by a sneeze brought on by her hay fever. Remington saw the opportunity to turn the conversation to business and took it.

"Mr. Hayes, as much as I hate to interrupt this… _touching reunion_ ," he gave Laura a disapproving look on the last two words, as she turned her head away from him, smiling smugly, noting his jealousy has been stirred, "we're private investigators. We also happen to be major investors in Progressive Farms. We're here to help locate our swine." Throughout Remington's summary, Laura continued to flash her dimples at Hayes, clearly flattered by the attention he'd shown her.

"Oh, great!" Preston answered, as he returned to his chair behind his desk and Laura and Remington took their seats in front of it. "I don't think pigs top our sheriff's list of priorities. Agritech isn't exactly popular in this county.

"We noticed. How come?" she asked.

"Well, the bank's been foreclosing on a lot of small farms around here, and we've been buying them up. So the farmers sort of blame Agritech, too."

"We got the impression it was a little bit more than that," Remington pointed out, gesticulating with his hands.

"Well, they'd like to think so. Every time there's an accident of nature, the farmers point the finger at us."

"Accidents of nature?" Laura wondered.

"Yeah, well, there've been a couple of fires, some floods. Nature." Remington looked disbelievingly in Laura's direction, not unmissed by Hayes. "Look, we don't have to drive the farmers under. Simple economics is taking care of that. It's sad. I feel for them. But agri-business is the future of farming."

"Absolutely," Remington agreed, redirecting the conversation again. "About the swine?"

"We figured some disgruntled farmer probably stole them as revenge against us. They're still around, _that_ we know. About the only thing the Sheriff could do right after the theft was to set up roadblocks. So we're confident the pigs are still somewhere in the county."

"And the clock is running down," Steele noted.

"Yeah. In twenty-four hours," Hayes pointed his finger and mimicked the sound of a gunshot, "you can kiss those porkers goodbye." He laughed, as though it were amusing as Laura joins in while she stands.

"Maybe you can afford to, Preston," she told the man, suddenly serious, "but we can't. We need to start at the scene of the crime."

"It's locked up," he informed her. "But I'll give you the key," he laughed, taking the key out of his top desk drawer and bringing it around the desk to her, determined to pick up where he'd left off. "Are you busy for dinner tonight, Laura?" As Laura looked at the man open-mouthed, Remington reached around her to take the key from Hayes as he stood.

"Swine before pearls, Preston," he said quickly, reminding the man of the business at hand while grasping Laura by the waist and guiding her to the door of the office. "Rah," he called to Hayes, condescendingly, becoming all the more irritated as Laura giggled quietly again and waved to the man before they left.

Once out of the office, he dropped his hand from around her waist and put noticeable distance between them, remaining mum as they walked towards the enclosure where the pigs had been taken from.


	2. Chapter 2: Consequences and Admissions

Chapter 2: Consequences & Admissions

Back in Los Angeles, with the case successfully wrapped up, the swine recovered, investment recouped and a nice check from Agritech in the bank to boot, Remington and Mildred spent two days walking on egg shells around Laura. Sitting in her office, her feet propped up on her desk, a smug smile played across her lips as her hands toyed with a pencil. The mere fact that Remington had made no attempt to convince her to stay the night when they'd arrived back in LA on Sunday was proof enough that he knew he was in hot water for his stunt with the boat. That he'd kept his mind firmly on business the past two days, nose buried in paperwork, nary a newspaper in sight, was indicative of his attempts to make amends before she verbally boxed his ears for his ploy.

As for Mildred? The woman stared holes in her desk or into the carpet every time Laura spoke with her and anything requested by the latter was delivered by the former in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

All-in-all it had been a gloriously, productive two days and resembled, a great deal, how she'd once imagined it would be when she was the owner and boss of her own Agency. But, all the humility, the obeisance, _the professionalism_ , had by now worn thin. The fact was, she liked the informality of the office; she _liked_ that she, Remington and Mildred were a family, of a kind. She liked the gal-to-gal chats between she and Mildred. She really liked the banter, even the arguing, between she and Remington. She sighed. And, not that she'd ever admit as much to him, she loved walking into his office in the morning, finding him relaxed, feet up on the desk, cup of tea at elbow, newspaper in hand. She'd spent years admiring his long, lean frame positioned exactly thus. She missed it.

Yes, it was time to reclaim the casual, comfortable atmosphere of her Agency. To that end, she stood and punched the intercom button on her phone.

"Mildred, I'd like to see you in Mr. Steele's office."

"Yes, Miss Holt," came the nervous reply.

Opening the door joining her office to Remington's, Laura strolled in, closing the door behind her. Crossing the room, she leaned against both arms, hands pressed on his desk. As he had been doing the last two days, his nose was buried in a blueprint for a security job, and he barely glanced up. Only when she remained in the same place, her eyes stagnant upon him, did he sit back in his chair and give her his full attention.

"Would you mind putting that up for a little bit? Mildred will be right in."

"Of course not, Miss Holt," he answered briskly, folding up the blueprint and shoving it into a drawer. The formality raised a crease between her brows, but she turned and pushed herself up onto a corner of his desk, crossing her legs and perching there as Mildred entered the room. Laura waved her hand at a chair in front of the desk, indicating their trusted secretary should take a seat. She did so, nervously kneading the hands in her lap.

"Before I start I want to say something, Mildred." Steepling her fingers, she tapped her chin with them several times. "You are a trusted, _invaluable_ member of this Agency and I think Mr. Steele would agree with me when I say you are more like family than an employee." Remington nodded his head behind her. "Further, your history with the IRS Fraud Squad and your remarkable knowledge of how to finesse anything we need from a computer only enhances the services we are able to offer our clients." Mildred nodded cautiously, but remained quiet. "For the _most part_ you have done an outstanding job handling the Agency's investments. _However,_ I don't think you'd disagree that twice in the last year the Agency has faced potentially debilitating losses due to… oh… overexuberance on your part?"

"I'm so sorry, Miss Holt. Who would have thought pigs would be _kidnapped?_ " Mildred apologized. Laura snorted softly.

"It's definitely not an everyday occurrence, that's true. Still, I hold myself largely responsible for those missteps. I have been… lax… in knowing exactly what we are investing in and to what extent. So, to that end, while you'll continue to be responsible for our portfolio, from here forward, any investment over ten thousand dollars or that requires a withdrawal from our discretionary account will require either myself or Mr. Steele signing off on it. Should it be Mr. Steele, I'll expect him to keep me fully apprised." She turned who looked at Remington, who again nodded his agreement. "Is that agreeable with you?"

"It is," Mildred confirmed. Truthfully, she'd fully expected Laura to remove her from overseeing the investment accounts altogether. The two occasions of which Miss Holt had spoken would have sent the Agency back nearly a hundred thousand dollars, had the situations not been salvaged.

"Alright, then that will be all," Laura told her. Mildred rose to leave, then came to a stop when Laura spoke again. "And Mildred, maybe later you and I can sit down and discuss a certain sheriff?" she smiled.

"Gal-to-gal, I'd like that," Mildred grinned then left the office, closing the door behind her.

Laura slid off the desk, then flopped into the chair Mildred had just vacated.

"I'm glad that's over," she said, clearly relieved.

"Hmmmm," he hummed in acknowledgement. "I suppose it's my turn now?" he questioned. She lifted her hands and then dropped them.

"Afraid so," she confirmed. He rose and walked around his desk, to lean his bottom against it while crossing his feet at the ankle.

"Let me attempt to address each of my misdeeds." She raised her brows, telling him in that gesture to continue on. "My attempt to use the Agency discretionary fund without your knowledge was underhanded and smacks of my old habit of trying to put one over on you."

"Notice I'm not disagreeing," she replied, crossing her arms.

"My attempt to present such a purchase as an expenditure solely for the purpose of entertaining clients draws into question my respect for your intelligence." She drew steepled fingers up to her lips and tapped at them.

"Go on."

"Further, if our personal relationship is to continue… and move forward… honesty and respect between us is essential."

"Uh-huh." Her brows furrowed. Although he was saying all the right things, for some reason she felt as though there was an undercurrent in the conversation that she wasn't quite grasping.

"I give you my word, Miss Holt, that I'll never again attempt to use the Agency discretionary funds for such nefarious purposes and will come to you to discuss any proposed usages beforehand. My apologies." He took her hands in his and bussed the back of each in turn, before pulling her to her feet. "Does that about cover everything?" he inquired.

"Well yes, it does, but—" She frowned as she found herself being guided towards their adjoining door.

"Good, good. I really must get back to those plans. I've a meeting with Godwin in the morning."

With a buss on the cheek, and a playful pat on the bottom, he pushed her into her office and closed the door. Dazed, she crossed the room to her desk and wondered what exactly had just happened, when, once again, she'd lost control of the situation. He'd said all the right things. Seemed to mean them. Had been unfailingly courteous, had spoken with good humor.

So why, then, did she get the uncomfortable feeling that it was she sitting in the hot seat?


	3. Chapter 3: Reflections

Chapter 3: Reflections

Remington sat in a chair on the terrace of his Rossmore flat Tuesday evening, placidly swirling a glass of Bordeaux. It was a beautiful mid-November evening, not too warm, not too cool, with a soft breeze playing in the air. Music wafted out of the living room. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the moment while his mind wandered.

Shortly after he'd returned home, as he'd been preparing duck confit for one, the phone had rung. Picking up the kitchen extension, he answered it in his customary manner.

"Steele here."

"Remington," came a soft, sensual voice over the line. "It's Eloise."

"Eloise!" he greeted, speaking her name with the same enthusiasm he'd greet Abigail when she was around. "My, my, my. It's been quite a little while since last we spoke. To what do I owe the honor?" he inquired, leaning against the kitchen counter and enjoying a sip of wine.

"I have box seats at the Opera this evening and my escort cancelled on me at the last minute. Naturally, given your love for it, I thought of you. Are you free?" For a split second, in a priggish moment, he considered accepting her invitation. A little bit of goose, gander, if you will. But the idea of placing at risk what he and Laura now had, what he hoped they would soon have, immediately quashed that notion.

"I'm sorry, I'm not. I'm seeing someone exclusively these days," he demurred, swirling his wine and taking another sip.

"Tell Miss Holt she's a lucky woman. There aren't many men like you," she told him graciously, but clearly disappointed.

"Ah, but I think it's I who's the lucky one. Good night, Eloise."

"Goodbye, Remington," she replied, before disconnecting the line.

The brief conversation had given him pause. It was the second time in as many months that he'd turned down an offer from an undeniably beautiful woman. Had, in fact, told them with ease he was committed to Laura. There was a time, being a petulant ass, he might have taken them up on the offer of a date, solely for the purpose of tweaking Laura's jealousy. Slept with? No. It had been years since he'd had a desire to take anyone but she into his bed. But make her squirm a bit after she'd annoyed him? Absolutely.

Dinner had been a lonely affair, but not enough so to make him pick up the phone and call her. Truth be told, her behavior with Hayes had been initially an annoyance, but the more he dwelled on her girlish tittering, the blush, the flash of those adored dimples at the other man… her failure to set him down… annoyance had moved to aggravation, and now? He was quite simply put out with his lovely partner. She'd made not a single attempt to set the man down, in fact it could even be argued that she'd encouraged the blatant flirtation taking place right in front of him… her lover… the man she was allegedly committed to.

It had taken an act of great faith, on his part, to take her at her word that she'd gotten off that plane she'd boarded with the intent of going off on holiday to Mexico with Westfield. An even greater test of his trust, when he'd believed her when she said she hadn't gone because she'd realized she only wanted to be with him. That he was now questioning her veracity, in the wake of the Hayes, left him… shaken. Had made him wonder if it she was as committed as he to this relationship of theirs, or if he'd once more be taken to his knees when she walked away.

Only this time it would be worse, far worse, than it had been in times past. Now that he knew what it was to make love with her. To know the quiet contentment of falling asleep with her at night with their bodies entwined, to the feel of her soft breath against his chest. To know the joy of waking with her in his arms in the morning, and to see the sleep dazed amber eyes smiling up at him when she woke.

The realization of all he stood to lose by placing his heart in her hands had made for two sleepless nights.

And apparently, another on the horizon.

With a deep sigh, he swallowed down the last of his wine and stood to go inside and shower.


	4. Chapter 4: The Whole of You

Chapter 4: The Whole of You

Laura stood at the door of apartment 5A and lifted her hand to knock, then hesitated, unsure if she'd be welcome. She'd been so busy patting herself on the back for making Remington and Mildred squirm a bit the last two days for their misdeeds, that she'd erroneously written off Remington's sudden devotion to work as repentance. Oh, she was still certain his commitment was due, at least in part, to that, but she hadn't realized until tonight, as she'd sat alone in her loft, imbibing on some leftovers he'd put up in her freezer, that it went deeper than mere apology.

When he'd scooted her out of his office that afternoon, she'd been left with the unsettling feeling he was put out with her. The thought had nagged at her all afternoon, and several times, she'd laughed it off. _She_ hadn't done anything… or at least nothing came to mind. Oh, no, the transgressions this last weekend had belonged to Mildred and Mr. Steele…

Right?

She became less confident of that premise as the day had ticked away.

Remington, when caught in a ploy, didn't back away, evade. He employed boyish charm, hoping to evoke a smile. He flashed smarmy smiles, hoping to draw a laugh. He tried to urge her into a clinch, hoping a knee buckling kiss would make her forget, or at least forgive. Hell, he even apologized, something he'd become proficient at over the years.

He hadn't tried to kiss her since Saturday night when they sat in a pickup truck while on stakeout. Oh, he'd kissed her on the cheek when Fred had dropped her off after their return to LA, but that was it. There hadn't been a single phone call, before bed or otherwise. There had been no invites to lunch or dinner. There hadn't been any of the touches throughout the day which she'd grown accustomed… perhaps _too_ much to, as she hadn't realized they'd been absent until she'd begun to scrutinize his behavior. There had been no innuendos, no quick smiles meant only for her. What she'd interpreted as contrition and diligence, had also been distance.

An angry Remington stormed out and when he returned would flash too toothy of smiles or freeze her out with a look so cold it would leave her shivering. He'd been in the office, diligently, acting like a consummate professional both yesterday and today. So it wasn't anger.

An _injured_ Remington shut down, placed distance between them. He'd done it after Cannes. He done it in spades after Westfield.

She'd paced her loft – back and forth, back and forth – for the better part of an hour, stopping now and again to take a nibble of her dinner, only to resume again. Finally, at a little past nine, recognizing she wouldn't sleep until she knew the answer, she shoved her plate across the counter, grabbed her keys and purse and walked out of the loft.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she turned her hand over and used her ring to rap on the door.

On the terrace, where Remington had retired with another glass of wine after his shower, his head snapped up from the glass of wine he'd been studying, as though it would hold the answers he sought. Only one person rapped on his door in such a manner and for a half-second he was tempted to let it go unanswered, then admitted his inability to do so. The rap came again before he reached the door. Swinging the door open, he swept out his hand indicating she should enter.

Laura's heart caught in her throat. Wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms and a silk bathrobe he'd allowed to hang open, her toes curled at his sheer beauty. His damp hair lay tousled on his head and that piece of unruly hair that fell across his forehead left her fingers itching to brush it back. The blue robe he wore made his eyes the color of sapphires. Her stomach clenched when she noted the absence of the twinkle that normally graced his eyes when she surprised him by showing up unannounced. Closing the door, without so much as a greeting, let alone a welcoming kiss, he walked past her into the living room.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked out of nothing more than politeness, nodding towards the glass he held in hand.

"I'd love one," she agreed. He disappeared into the kitchen, then returned shortly, handing her a glass of the Bordeaux, before continuing back to the terrace where he resumed the seat he'd occupied before she arrived. Brows furrowing, she followed in his wake, taking a seat across from his at the café table.

Silence stretched long and thin between them.

"So," Laura began, in an attempt at breaking the ice, "I think Mildred was relieved we let her off the hook so easily." He nodded his head.

"Mmmmm, seemed so." His response was so close ended it left no opportunity to continue the conversation. Taking a long drag of the wine, she pondered her choices. Finally, deciding the direct approach was always best, she dove in.

"I'm a bit embarrassed to admit I hadn't realized until this afternoon that you're… put out… with me over something I've apparently done, but for the life of me I can't figure out what that is. Care to enlighten me?" she prodded. Circling his finger on the rim of his glass he gave no indication he'd heard a word. So, when, after an intolerably long minute had passed, he spoke, she started.

"I had an… interesting… phone call this evening," he said thoughtfully.

"Oh?"

"Hmmmm. Do you remember Eloise?"

 _Remember?_ She felt her hackles rising. _How exactly does one forget the tall, gorgeous, buxom stockbroker that was so… genuine… it made it impossible for me to hate her, even if she had hoped to take one of LA's 'most eligible bachelors' off the market… or at least off to bed._

"No, can't say that I do," she lied smoothly. Infuriatingly he only nodded his head, as his finger continued to circle the rim of his glass.

"Tall brunette I dated for a bit last year when you decided…" he left that thought unfinished on purpose. "You, that fellow… what's his name… we double dated…" he feigned forgetfulness, frowning as though trying to recall his name. _Bill, Bill Smith, as if I'd forget you tossing the blighter in my face, even as I ached to hold you._

"Bill Smith," she provided helpfully.

"Yes, yes, that's it. Bill Smith. The four of us. L'Ornate?" he prodded. She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes skywards as though trying to remember.

"Oh, right," she said returning her attention to him. "Eloise. What about her?"

"She called this evening, out of the blue. Quite the surprise." He glanced at her from under his eyelashes, gauging her reaction. Nothing yet. "Flattering, too, I must admit." That did it. He watched as her face flushed.

"Oh? How so?" she inquired, pretending minimal interest. Tipping back the glass of wine, she took a long sip.

"It's going on a year since we were seeing one another, yet she remembered my appreciation for the Opera." Her hand moved to her throat, stroking it, a tell she was disturbed.

"An odd reason to call someone," she commented. "To reminisce about someone's love for the Opera."

"Maybe not so odd," he replied, scratching the side of his nose. "She asked if I'd escort her. Seems she has box seats." Her glass froze midway to her mouth, as humiliation turned her face a darker shade of red and her temper flared.

Here it was. One of the things she'd feared most about turning the corner with the conniving con artist. He'd gotten her into bed, had satiated his curiosity and was ready to move on. Maybe not disappearing into the misty night, but moving on in his head, none the less. _Committed, ha!_ She'd been a mark. Even worse a willing conquest. A fool. She carefully set down her glass. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing this break her. Tipping back her head, she stood stiffly.

"Well, what are you waiting on then? Have at it!" she bit out, before storming out as quickly as her feet would take her toward the door. Which was all of about three steps before he reached out, grabbing her arm with those quick reflexes of his.

"Don't you want to know what I told her?" he asked in a calm voice that grated.

"I think I've heard all your lines, no need for an encore performance," she retorted coolly, not answering, but not looking at him either. His lips quirked upwards with admiration. _Never gives an inch, my Miss Holt._

"I told her I was committed." She gave a cursory tug of her arm, putting no real effort into it, as the rest of her body remained still. "She didn't even have to guess to whom. Would you like to know what she said?"

"Not particularly," she ground out. With a shake of his head, smile still playing on his lips, he forged on.

"'Tell Miss Holt she's a lucky woman.'" She snorted her disbelief. "It's funny isn't it?" he pondered aloud.

"I don't find anything particularly amusing about it, but then I don't have your warped sense of humor either," she answered, looking down at the fingernails on the hand of the unencumbered arm. He found her stubbornness one of her most endearing traits and one of her most infuriating at the same time. Tentatively, he relaxed his grip on her arm. She stayed where she was, a sign, at least, that she was listening.

"Perhaps 'interesting' is a better of choice of words." He'd dance around whatever he had on his mind all evening, she knew, unless she gave him the opening he was looking for. Well, he wouldn't get much of one. She'd open the door a crack and he'd have to squeeze through.

"Oh?"

"Mmmmm," he hummed. "How it is that the woman who have passed through my life these last years," he watched as she stiffened again, "Not through my apartment or my bed, but through my life," he clarified, "Have so easily identified where it is my interest lies without a word spoken by me." He moved in for the kill. "Yet, since London I have twice now been approached, and twice now, with remarkable ease, turned down those offers with two simple words… 'I'm committed.'" He sighed. "It makes a man wonder why the woman he's committed to can't do the same." She deflated before his eyes. Turning, she retook the chair she'd vacated and picked up her glass of wine, tapping on the glass with her fingertips as she mulled the implications of what he'd said.

"Do you think I'm not committed to this? To us? You?" He shrugged his shoulders.

"I believe in actions, Miss Holt," he answered simply.

"And my actions have said otherwise?" she wondered, searching recent memories for when she'd made him believe so.

"I find it," he pursed his lips, considering the rim of his glass again, "… discomfiting…. That the words come so easily to a man who once likened commitment to the plague, yet the woman who has claimed for years it is what she needed… can't bring herself to do the same." He turned piercing blue eyes upon her. "And, in fact, revels in the attention of another man." If the first words baffled her, the second took her aback.

"What are you _talking about?!_ " she demanded in an affronted voice, even as a memory niggled at the edges of her mind.

"Do you really need to ask?" he countered with a raised brow. She shifted in her chair uncomfortably.

"If you're speaking of Preston Hayes, I was more embarrassed than anything," she claimed.

"Ah," he answered disbelievingly even as he nodded.

"Maybe a little flattered. It had been more than a dozen years and he remembered me," she qualified. She flinched as he slapped his wine glass down on the table and stood to cross the balcony. Leaning his backside against the half wall he peered down at her, waiting. She scrunched her face. "Maybe I could have handled it better," she conceded.

"You made no attempt to 'handle' it at all! It was positively revolting watching you titter and blush as though you were young girl fresh from the school room being courted for the first time by that bloody twit." He pushed off the wall to pace, adding in an undertone as he strode away from her, "Not to mention insulting." The last words brought her to her feet.

"Insulting? How did I possibly insult you?!" she asked, throwing a hand up in the air in frustration, while plunking another fisted hand on her hip. He turned to face her, ice blue eyes cutting into her.

"Tell me, Miss Holt, if the mere mention of a woman calling to invite me to the opera was enough to inspire you to storm out of here in a pique this evening – a proposal you neither witnessed with your own eyes nor heard with your own ears – how would you have felt if the shoe was on the other foot and you'd been forced to sit by and watch as I was? You'd have frozen me out for a month, if not ended us altogether."

Turning away from him, she walked to lean against the wall, staring out at Hancock Park. Truth be told, she had admitted to herself, there in Hayes office, that she'd enjoyed stirring Remington's jealousy, which always lay just under the surface when it came to her. Old habits? It was a ploy she'd used many times over the years whether as a tit-for-tat for a woman he'd brought around or to draw him back in after she'd shoved him away. A test? To see if he was as serious about his claim to her as he'd seemed in London, or if now that his curiosity was sated, he'd willingly take a back from the commitment they'd pledged? A touch of ego-stroking? That Preston Hayes not only remembered her, the details of their meeting a dozen plus years later, but made it very clear his interest had not waned?

She wasn't sure of anything, except she had been aware of Hayes's come on's and that she'd done nothing to sway them… more so, looking at her behavior now, had actually encouraged them. She turned around to face him again, leaning against the wall.

"You're right," she admitted, holding up her hands then dropping them. "About all of it. How I acted. Not dissuading his advances." She puffed out a frustrated breath. "How I would have reacted if it had been me placed in that situation instead." She shook her head and held out her hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't know what to say." She wrapped her arms around herself, whilst dropping her head to study the ground. He crossed the balcony to lean against the wall next to her, not making contact.

"Look, Laura," he began, shoving his hands in his pockets while he spoke. "I meant what I said. I won't share. I _can't_ share. Not you. I'm no more capable of that than you are of sharing me with another woman." Removing a hand from his pocket he rubbed at his mouth. "If we're going to do this… really give it a go… I need to know that the whole of you is committed to me. Not just your body. But here," he reached over and brushed the back of two fingers along her temple, "and here," he tapped two fingers above her heart. She grasped his hand and turned to face him.

"I am. All of me. I won't deny that once I realized you were… jealous… that I didn't enjoy it, as horrible as that is to say. But I didn't do it intentionally and I wouldn't have accepted the invitation from him." Releasing his hand, she reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, then pressing his head downwards, touched her forehead to his. "There's only one person I want to be with, Remington." He nodded his head, then slipped away, rubbing at the back of his neck as he took several steps away from her before turning back.

"About the boat..." Her brows lifted in surprise.

"I thought we'd already put that matter to rest," she reminded him.

"We had. Although I left out one pertinent detail." Crossing her arms, she regarded him at length.

"Which was?" He flashed that crooked grin at her, the one used by children everywhere after they've been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. _Oh, this should be good,_ she thought, preparing herself for whatever line he'd cooked up.

"I had far more selfish pursuits at heart than I may have admitted to," he confessed in a voice meant to placate, cajole.

"You don't say," she retorted. He approached he then, grasping her hips and drawing her near.

"You," he pressed a kiss on a cheek, "me," then the other, "no interruptions," upon her chin, "the open sea," above one eye, "making love under the stars," then the other, "waking to the sunrise—" He leaned back and eyed her, a single brow raised when she broke out in laughter.

"You, waking at sunrise? That'll be the day," she chided.

"Alright, making love until the sunrise then," he modified with a waggle of his brows. She pursed her lips and gave the suggestion some thought. She'd done quite a bit of sailing in her teens and early twenties, and had really enjoyed it. And the prospect of what her Mr. Steele was suggesting…

"I happen to know a place that leases sailboats for weekend excursions…" His blue eyes lit with pleasure, and the twinkle that had been conspicuously absent for some days, returned.

"Can I convince you to steal away with me this weekend, Miss Holt?" he asked, drawing her closer, until they were fitted together from chest to hip.

"On one condition," she told him, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, resting her fingers on the back of his neck.

"And that is?" he asked, brushing her hair back over a shoulder.

"That we go skinny dipping in the Pacific," she leaned her head back and waggled a pair of brows of her own at him. His brows drew together.

"It's mid-November…." He reminded her. His heart thumped hard in his chest at the sultry grin she bestowed upon him.

"Don't worry, Mr. Steele. I'm sure I'll find a way to keep you warm." He growled low in his throat at the suggestion.

"What can I say to that, except, 'anchors away,'" he muttered before his lips covered hers, and he kissed her with a fervor that held a promise of things yet to come.


End file.
